


Sand

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 01:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10322042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: You can't glue it back together.You can't take sand and turn it back into what it once was. It’s now sand.  Slippery and sticky, soft to the touch, and undeniably broken.That’s what it’s like. What they’re like. Maybe they were seashells, maybe they were broken down to sand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_75I7qqWBY) bc at least 2,000 of the views on that video are from me the past 3 years 
> 
>  
> 
> i havent posted anything here in a while and idk, ive wanted to write this so, here

The sound of rain hitting the pavement is hard and thick. They’re big droplets, much louder, with the door swung open like this. Water rushes from the storm drain, away from the porch, and into the street gutter. 

Bokuto stands on the doorstep, fists at his side, eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, mouth slightly agape with a sense of betrayal.

Kuroo’s heartbeat is in his ears. His palms are sweating, but he keeps his poker-face smooth, like a mask. He swallows around battery acid. Feels it burn in his stomach.

The air is almost tangible. Kuroo can feel it, can feel his level words, like they’re palpable. Kuroo repeats himself.  

“I don’t love you anymore.”

It’s hard hitting. It twists a knife in Kuroo’s gut too. Bokuto’s face is blank. It’s the worst.

“….Since when?”

“Now.” Kuroo breathes. “Just now.”

Bokuto exhales. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and makes Kuroo’s gut twist even harder. He says nothing, does nothing. Stands there on the doorstep as it rains around them. Kuroo tightens the grip on the doorknob – if he hesitates any longer, Bokuto will know. Because Bokuto always knows. Because Bokuto knows  _him._

Kuroo nods, “Here’s the truth.” He breathes, “So now you can hate me.”

Bokuto’s lower lip trembles just once, before his eyes narrow into something so cold, so horrible, that Kuroo reconsiders everything – reconsiders taking it all back – but he  _can’t._ He can’t. For Bokuto, he can’t.

“After everything….?” Bokuto trails off.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah…okay.”

“Good luck at school,” Kuroo mumbles, barely keeping his voice from wavering.

Bokuto exhales, “You too,” and walks away.

Kuroo watches the clear umbrella turn the corner, before he closes the door, and breaks down.

 

* * *

 

He’s broken bones before. Snapped them, right in two. Once he took a volleyball to the face so hard, they had to move his nose back into place. He buried his cat a couple years ago. Fifteen years old.

It was painful, all of it. But nothing like this.

Kuroo loves him. Loves Bokuto with every fiber of his being. Every single string of DNA. Head to toe, to the moon and back, Kuroo  _loves him._

As enemies turned pals, pals turned best friends, best friends turned lovers – they’ve been through it all together, thick and thin, they have.

But Bokuto was accepted to college, and Kuroo was not.

Well, to the big fancy  _state_ college. With a scholarship, no less. Full ride and everything.

Community college is the only option for Kuroo, really… always has been. He needs to stay close to home. Needs to take care of his mom.

Kuroo never had a chance at that scholarship anyways. Bokuto is, in every definition of the word, a  _star._ Bright and beautiful and burning with such raw potential, it’s almost overwhelming. He’s everything worth living for.

State is hours away, in a beautiful part of the country where the rich folk douse their front lawns in exotic plants and fancy butlers.

And Bokuto was going to say no. For him, Bokuto was.

_“I think I’m going to UJP.”_

_“Dude, what? Why?”_

_“State is just so far, man... I’m not really comfortable with it.”_

_“Babe. It’s State. You’re not gonna’ say no to that.”_

_“I dunno’….UJP is closer to your community, yeah?”_

Kuroo had gone home. Nearly pulled out his hair in the shower and yelled, because Bokuto  _loves_ him. Loves him so much, that he’d give up playing with a top tier team, just to be a little bit closer.

 _“I love you, dude.”_  Bokuto had smiled,  _“I don’t really care where I go, so long as I get to be with you.”_

He wasn’t thinking straight. He  _wasn’t._ For Bokuto to rattle off such…such nonsense.

Kuroo had to do that right thing. He had to, for him. For Bokuto’s future, he  _had to._

 

* * *

 

For a week or so, he’s okay. It’s growing warmer – a sign that school will start up again soon. This time it’s a new one, just a short train ride away from home.

For a week or so, Kuroo goes grocery shopping, does the dishes.

For a week or so, he pretends that everything is fine.

But Bokuto has been such a huge part of his life – he’d come over almost every day. Text him every minute. Every hour. Call him when they weren’t together, send him fucking  _letters,_ for fucks sake. They always had little Iron Man stickers sealed around the edges of the envelope.

It’s the silence that does Kuroo in. The soft wind chime outside his doorstep. The way his phone sits on the table, completely quiet.

His mother is upstairs, happily asleep, so Kuroo collapses against the kitchen sink and  _cries._

It’s ugly; Kuroo isn’t a crier, so his body almost…doesn’t know what to do. He folds his forearms and rests his head against the counter and sobs, for all he’s worth, he sobs.

 Highschool crushes are dumb, they say, but this doesn’t feel like one. His body hurts, his  _soul_ hurts, but he had to do this. For Bokuto, for Bokuto.

For Bokuto, whose hands are so large and callused, and fit between Kuroo’s like a key. For Bokuto, who kisses like fire –who picks him up like it’s nothing. Who listens to him when he’s sad, who sneaks him alcohol when he’s even sadder.

The memories hit Kuroo like a hammer – of hotboxing his mom’s old car – of jumping beach fences – of hopping on trains and going everywhere and nowhere. Bokuto’s been there, always, holding his hand and lolling his head against his shoulder, slobbering against his shirt and sleeping in his lap.

Kuroo can’t breathe. He can’t  _breathe. He can’t_

He’s choking on his own tears, now on the floor, back against the cabinet. He muffles his hiccups with his hand, inhale, inhale, inhale-

The knife in his stomach has swollen, bled and grown into the size of a sword.

He was so mean. Making Bokuto stand on his doorstep. So mean, to roll the words off without emotion – but he  _had to._ Bokuto is so loyal, so devoted. If Kuroo was any nicer, he’d know. If he was honest, Bokuto would brush him off without a second thought.

_“Nahh, silly. It’s not that biga’ deal. A college is just a college~”_

It’s more than that, you idiot. You beautiful idiot, it’s  _more._

Go. Go learn. Go play volleyball, and show everyone how stunning you are.

 

* * *

 

His mom notices right away – how Kuroo mopes to school and back. How he walls up in his room, and smiles because he has to. She’s supportive, loving in the way she only can be. Kuroo appreciates it more than he lets off.

Classes aren’t so bad, compared to the pre-college courses he did in highschool. He rides the train. Does homework. Cooks dinner for his mom. Cleans a little.

When his phone buzzes against his desk, he ignores it at first. Since Nekoma started a group chat, the buzzing has been pretty frequent- thanks Lev- but the buzzing continues, until Kuroo sees  _Bo_ flash on the screen.

Kuroo scrambles for his phone, and then  _panics,_ because, what? What? Does he answer it? Does he ignore him? It’s been three weeks; if Bokuto was gonna’ call and bitch and scream it would’ve been days ago-

_“-llo?”_

Oh  _fuck._ Did Kuroo answer it? Shit, shit, he’s talking-

“Ah, uh, hi?” Kuroo swallows.

_“Tetsu?”_

Ah, Christ.

Kuroo clears his throat. Breathes in, and tries to level his voice, “What is it?”

_“We needa….we needa talk, man.”_

“Are you at school?”

_“Nuu. Nuu I’m at home.”_

Kuroo’s heart kinda’ just…floats down to his knees, and stays there.

“You’re drunk.”

_“Not- I’m not.”_

His voice is watery and slurred, but it’s Bokuto. He’s drunk, but his tone is enough to make Kuroo feel warm. Like he’s home. Everything comes rushing back, stronger than any headache he’s had. Kuroo clears his throat.

“I think it’s better if we don’t talk.”

 _“No!”_ Bokuto shouts, suddenly, making Kuroo jolt up in his chair.  _“No! We’re fuckin’ talking right n- now, dude. You dumped me, you dumped me dude-“_

“A month ago, Bo.” Kuroo’s throat tightens –  _no, don’t cry-_ “I gotta’ go-“

 _“You, K-Kuroo, are an, are an asshole._ ” Bokuto barks,  _“I loved you! I love you still! I hate you!”_

He is an asshole. The worst, but Kuroo knows that.

“Call me when you’re sober-“

 _“I am sober!”_ Bokuto wails,  _“I haven’t… I haven’t had shit, d-dude. I’ve just been- I’ve been crying so hard-“_

His heart lurches, “Stop-“  

_“I hate this! I want to see you! I want to talk to you again!”_

“I’m hanging up.”

_“Why can’t we talk Kuroo? I- I don’t care If you don’t l-love me. Why can’t I at least be yo-your friend again??”_

Kuroo inhales, blinks back the sting in his eyes, and snaps, “Because it  _hurts,_ ” just after he presses the red button, and chucks his phone across the room.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo expected the heartbreak to end. Plot twist, it does not.

Kuroo  _has_ dated other people. He’s been broken up with, he’s broken up with other people.It hurts for a while, but you get over it. Life has this way of being louder than your head.

But Bokuto is just…

He’s still everything.

Kuroo thinks about him all the time. Sometimes Bokuto will text him, and sometimes Kuroo will answer, but it’s nothing like it used to be. Simple things.

 

_Hey._

 

 

But that’s all there is.

He misses him. In every possible sense, Kuroo misses him. The payoff will be better than the pain, probably. When he sees Bokuto up there one day, spiking with the best of them, it’ll all be worth it.

Kuroo isn’t more valuable than his future. That’s something Bokuto will just have to learn.

 

* * *

 

What he’s not expecting, is a knock on the door.

Mom didn’t say anything about visitors, and Kuroo hasn’t ordered anything from Amazon. The mail already came, and their neighbors are a bunch of secret, judgey assholes. It’s not like they come knocking for sugar, or some shit.

When Kuroo looks through the eyehole and sees Bokuto, hands in his pockets, snapback adorably turned on his head, Kuroo’s lungs exhale with a steady  _whoosh._

He throws open the lock. Bares his teeth and snarls, “What the hell?”

“Hi to you too,” Bokuto says, without a smile.

“You’re supposed to be up at school,” Kuroo grits, because his hands are  _shaking._ Bokuto is right there, right there, right there. His hands, his eyes- Kuroo keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Four day weekend.” Bokuto answers. His eyes are so  _dead._ So empty. “We really need to talk. Are you busy?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo lies. “Why didn’t you call first?”

“Because you don’t fucking answer,” Bokuto spits, making Kuroo almost flinch. “Also you’re lying, let me in-“

“Dude, no-“

Bokuto worms his way past him, kicking off his shoes and ripping the scarf off his neck.

“Is your mom home?”

“No, she’s-“

“Good, I can yell at you.” Bokuto turns around and crosses his arms, leaning back up against the lip of the couch. “You’re a douche.”

“Thanks, I know. Bye-“

“If you really wanted to break up with me, that’s fine.” Bokuto lifts up a hand, “I get it, okay? I get it. But you just- you just... _dumped me._  Like I meant nothing to you.”

“That’s not…”

“I’m trying to get over you,” Bokuto says seriously, which…isn’t a good look for him. He’s best when he smiles. Best when he laughs. “I’m really trying, okay? But there was like, a five year friendship there. I want that back.”

It’s so quiet. No cicadas, no cars. The air feels tangible once more, which is just so  _foreign._ Everything was always so easy with Bokuto – so effortless.

“I…” Kuroo shifts over to the big armrest on the loveseat, and sits on it. “I want that too.”

“I just need closure,” Bokuto rubs his eyes. He looks tired. Kuroo’s heart sinks. “And…and the reason you broke up with me was…it was bullshit. I want a  _real_ answer.”

“That was my answer.” Kuroo keeps his voice tight. “That’s all you’re getting.”

“Don’t,” Bokuto points. “Don’t. I’ve had three months to think about this, dude. Don’t fucking play.”

God, Bokuto is just as perceptive as always. Kuroo didn’t plan for this.

Maybe if he tells the truth, Bokuto will hate him more. End this all. Rip the bandaid off completely.

Bokuto’s voice wavers, dips low, makes Kuroo want to squish his cheeks and hold him- “It just…was so…it was so out of character for you. Something had to have happened, something I did-“

“You didn’t do anything.” Kuroo affirms, “I promise.”

“Then  _why?”_

“I just,” Kuroo shrugs, “fell out of love.”

What a lie. What a  _lie._

He’s sure, fifty years from now, Kuroo will still love him. Bokuto owns a piece of his heart forever; that much is obvious. He unwove himself years ago, string by string, and tied himself to Bokuto. To his strong fingers and round arms and his one pinky toe, with the scar.

Bokuto’s voice cracks, “What did I do?”

 _“Nothing._ It was-“

“Stop.” Bokuto rolls his eyes, “I swear to god, if you say “It’s not you, it’s me” I might punch you in the face.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Kuroo tries to snap, “It’s done. Get over it.”

The words sound cold, even out of his own mouth. His lips feel icy.

The hurt in Bokuto’s eyes is killer.

 _“_ I’m just trying to fix things!” Bokuto barks back, “You’re being- you’re being so-“ Bokuto pushes off of the back of the couch with a shout, “-so  _stupid._ What happened to you? I’ve known you for years, but you- you- you don’t even sound like yourself!”

Because he doesn’t. Because Kuroo is  _lying._

Kuroo lowers his voice, “Please leave.”

“Nothing, huh? Everything we did meant nothing?”

_No._

“Movie nights? Breakfast for dinner? Sex on the beach?”

Kuroo’s eyes are stinging. He’s putting an end to this.

“Yes, Bokuto.” He enunciates his last name, “You’re just a little insignificant shitstain on the toilet bowl of life. I’ll forget your name by tomorrow, just another person I  _fucked-“_

“God, really? Now is the time to joke?”

“Can’t you see? This is my serious face.”

Bokuto clenches his fists- and for one, tiny second, Kuroo thinks that Bokuto might actually punch him.

But he’d never. Even now, Kuroo knows he’d never.

Bokuto runs a hand through his hair, voice defeated, eyes sickeningly somber, “What happened to you?” 

Kuroo can’t really answer.

 

* * *

 

Finals suck. Kuroo sneaks by, barely, with decent grades. It’s hard, with his head so fogged.

He still follows Bokuto on snapchat. He’s not sure why – maybe Kuroo is a masochist. Maybe he just hates himself that much. But watching him, seeing Bokuto make friends – attending games and posting dumb shit on his story –

Kuroo should be happy for him, but god it  _hurts._ It used to be him around his arm. It used to be  _Kuroo._

The hot, sappy twist in Kuroo’s stomach makes him almost jolt out of his chair. It’s only nine seconds long – but Bokuto is smiling, kissing the cheek of some guy on his team, snuggling into his shoulder with a bright laugh that Kuroo used to wake up to almost every day.

And Kuroo realizes, then and there, that he’ll never really be over Bokuto. The twist in his chest is a new way of living, he guesses.

Kuroo sets his phone down, soft and slow, clinking the charm against the bedside table. He runs a hand through his hair, exhales and brings his forehead to rest against his knees.

Pathetic.

 

* * *

 

At the six-month mark, Kuroo hits up the community gym. He spikes balls against the wall, each one harder than the next, each residing snap echoing around the walls. It’s late, and empty. There’s noise from the tennis court next door, but it’s incredibly faint.

Kuroo jogs in the mornings. Stays in shape, you know? He still eats pretty good; but the ants beneath his skin, the way his fingers twitch; it’s all new. He turns to a volleyball like some kind of medicine. Like it’ll solve all his problems. It won’t, but he can pretend.

 Sweat drips down his temple. He licks his dry lips, and spikes again.

_Whop! Whop!_

Kuroo hits the ball harder-

_Whap!_

Harder!

_Wh-_

“Kuroo-san.”

The ball bounces back off the wall, but Kuroo doesn’t catch it this time. It flies, bouncing once against the floor, before rolling towards a pair of sneakers.

Deft fingers lean down, wrapping around the volleyball, lifting it up off the floor. Kuroo’s eyes follow the movement.

“Akaashi?” Kuroo blinks.

He looks tired, but Akaashi always looks tired. He’s a little taller, maybe. More mature looking. He spins the ball in his hands, and nods, “I didn’t know you practiced here.”

“I don’t…” Kuroo shifts, “…usually. Do you?”

“Yes,” Akaashi stills the ball. “Since my family moved, this gym is closer than Fukurodani’s. I practice pinpoint setting here.”

“Oh.” Kuroo says, kinda’ dumbly. “Um…”

The kind, polite look on Akaashi’s face melts away. It hardens, into something scarier.

“So, this is it, huh?”  

“What?”

“Practicing spikes on a Sunday night.” Akaashi tosses the ball to him, and Kuroo catches it in one arm. “You disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“I’ve been busy? I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.” Akaashi stares, “But you broke Bokuto’s heart. That’s something I care about.”

Ah, shit.  Kuroo swallows, struggling to maintain eye contact. There’s something about Akaashi’s voice that demands your submissiveness.

“Dude, it’s been so long.” Kuroo scratches his head, “If you wanted to yell at me, you should’ve months ago.”

“It wasn’t this  _bad_ months ago.”

“What are you talking about? He’s moved on.”

“He still calls me crying.” Akaashi glares, “When he’s drunk. He still cries about you.”

How do you describe this feeling? Like dying? Like suffocating?

Kuroo forces the words out. It  _hurts,_ like ripping out hair. Like stubbing your toe. Like smashing your head on a door.

“That’s his problem.”

“God, really?” Akaashi huffs, surprisingly, “You can pull that nonsense with Bokuto, but not with me.”

Something in Kuroo cracks. Like, a hairline fracture.

“Hah,” Kuroo rasps. “I’m a great liar, huh?”

“Why are you doing this?” Akaashi presses, “I never meddled with whatever…whatever relationship you had. I frankly didn’t care, but all you’ve done is create a mess.”

“He was going to turn down  _state,_ Akaashi!” Kuroo yells, voice echoing off the walls, surrounding them like fog. Akaashi’s eyes widen, his back straightens. Kuroo’s voice pitches, “He was…he was going to give it up for me. Go to UJP. Say no to everything.”

Akaashi falls silent. Kuroo can see the wheels turning.

“I couldn’t clip his wings like that.” Kuroo speaks much softer, “I’d never be able to live with myself.”

“Can you live with yourself now?” Akaashi asks. “Now that you’ve crushed his heart to pieces.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“Oh, just like you have?”

 

Kuroo recoils.

 

“Yeah,” Akaashi rolls his eyes. “Great plan, Kuroo-san.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Communicate with him?”

“He’d never  _listen.”_

“He listens to  _you!”_  Akaashi snaps, shocking Kuroo into actually taking a step back. He looks hot, like, a physical fire. Cheeks red, eyes burning. “God knows you’re the only one.” Akaashi curses, tightening his fingers into a fist, then loosening them again. He exhales, and turns back to the gym door, picking up his bag, and throwing it over his shoulder.

Kuroo doesn’t really know what to say. He feels bad, but that’s not any recent development.Akaashi says one more thing, as the final kick while he’s down.

“You don’t deserve him.”

“Yeah.” Kuroo nods, “I never did.”

 

* * *

 

Groceries hit the pavement with a hard snap. There goes the eggs, and the red jam.

Bokuto is on his front porch.

It’s horribly late; the moon is high, and the crickets are loud. His canned soup rolls down the driveway, but Kuroo doesn’t even notice.

Bokuto is sitting on the front steps, a cheap bouquet of flowers hanging loose in his hands. He’s thumbing at the roses, kinda’ ruining them, but Bokuto always had a thing for picking pedals off flowers. Kuroo always accepted the raw stems with a genuine smile, drying them out and setting them in a vase with the others.

“Kou?” Kuroo blinks.

“Hiya.”

“Um…”

“I’m on break again,” Bokuto explains, looking up and meeting his eye. “Kuroo, your soup.”

“Leave it. Why are you here?”

“Because Akaashi told me everything.”

Kuroo closes his eyes. Ah, right.

“Kuroo, do you still love me?”

“Don’t.”

“Do you?”

“Stop, dude.”

“Kuroo do you-“

“Stop!” Kuroo barks. “Fuck! Why won’t you just  _hate me?!”_

“Because I  _can’t!”_ Bokuto shouts back, standing up, waving around the flowers with abandon. “I fucking tried!”

Kuroo rubs at his eye and inhales, trying to ignore the blood that rushes past his ears. “Try harder.”

“I don’t care.” Bokuto shakes his head, “I…I don’t. I don’t care that you made up my mind for me. I don’t care that you just, threw me away. I don’t  _care-“_

“Fuck dude, you should!”

“I don’t I don’t I don’t I  _don’t._ ” Bokuto squeezes his grip on the flowers. “This may be the  _stupidest_ thing you’ve ever done, but if there’s just…if there’s just the smallest chance that you might still love me… I won’t look back. Not even for a second, dude.”

Kuroo’s voice catches – ahh, damn. When did he turn into such a crier?

“This is the problem,” Kuroo rubs his eyes, forcing back the sting. “You’re too nice. You would’ve denied state.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You would’ve settled for UJP.”

“But I would’ve had you.” Bokuto says, and Kuroo actually kinda’ feels his heart sanp in two.

“You’re pretty fucked up, if you think some dumb relationship is better than your future.”

Bokuto huffs, “Dumb? You’re really setting me up for something super cliché here, but goddammit Tetsurou, I always thought  _you_ were my future.”

Kuroo hides his face in his hands. Turns around, and won’t look at him. Those crickets are still singing. The lights of a slow driving car pass by.

“Akaashi said you looked like shit, but, he wasn’t kidding.” Bokuto’s voice sounds strained, “Did you really hurt yourself this bad? For me?”

Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.  _Don’t turn around-_

He keeps back the tears, barely, by the skin of his teeth. It’s hard.

A hand grips his shoulder, and hauls him around, and Kuroo finds solace in Bokuto’s face, because at least he’s not the only one almost crying.

The flowers land against his chest with a lazy  _fwop,_ and Kuroo’s eyes glance down to follow the movement.

“Please….” Bokuto begs, “If there’s any chance that I could…make you fall in love with me again…I…”

Again?  Kuroo laughs, wetly. He takes the wilted flowers and breathes, “That’s my line.”

 

* * *

 

It feels like sand between his fingers.

Sand is just teeny tiny, itty bitty little sea shells, that have been broken by the ocean time and time again. Smashed to smithereens. You know this.

You cant glue it back together. You cant take sand and turn it back into what it once was. It’s now _sand._  Slippery and sticky, soft to the touch, and undeniably broken.

That’s what it’s like. What they’re like. Maybe they were seashells, maybe they were broken down to sand.

It feels unrepairable at first. They were apart for so long – the air between them feels tight and claustrophobic, raw and rubbed open like a rug burn. They talk for hours and hours, days and _days,_ counting down the hours until Bokuto has to go back to school. Kuroo thinks the weird weight on his chest might never leave.

It takes time. They try rebuilding what once was, only to realize that seashells are seashells, and sand is sand.

Have you ever had your vacation ruined by rain? Have you ever sat with a pout as it pours? Have you ever seen lightning hit sand?

Once again, sand changes. It changes into glass, solid and sharp and stronger than it ever was as a measly little sea shell.

Kuroo doesn’t know how to stop apologizing. Bokuto doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

So they start from square one.

“Let’s go on a date,” Kuroo says. “To that little hole in the wall. With the big ramen noodles and the tiny rabbit apples.”

And Bokuto smiles so wide his dimples pop from his cheeks, and Kuroo feels the first inkling of lightning in the sand.

 

* * *

 

The smack of a volleyball against linoleum floor is a safe sound. It sounds good and homey, and watching Bokuto move like a fish in water is even better.

The ball flies past his head, and Kuroo doesn’t bother diving for it.

“Rusty, huh?” Bokuto cackles.

“A little,” Kuroo smiles. He chases the ball down, and serves it back across the gym with little effort.

Bokuto’s tank top is an old one, sagging off his left shoulder, clinging onto his waist. His body flexes to receive the ball, and Kuroo feels his chest tighten. He knows his movements so well – but Bokuto is just as captivating to watch as the first time Kuroo saw him.  

“I missed this,” Bokuto says.

Kuroo nods, “Me too man.”

“I love my team though,” Bokuto’s palm smacks loudly against the ball, and Kuroo knows that sound well enough to be careful receiving. “But everything is so serious. I missed just – just messing around, you know?”

“I know,” Kuroo grins. “I come here sometimes by myself, but that’s never much fun.”

“Loner~”

“Yeah.”

Bokuto catches the ball this time, putting a standstill to his game. Kuroo blinks, standing up straight. The gym pangs with silence, the lights above them suddenly loud. Bokuto looks solemn where he stands; he stares at the ball between his hands, before looking up at Kuroo with big round eyes.

“Do you want to go up on the roof?”

Memories hit Kuroo hard, right in the gut. Of sneaking into Bokuto’s school and meeting him on the fifth floor. Of sneaking out of tournaments to meet his boyfriend on the roof.

It’s been two weeks since that moment on Kuroo’s porch, but this is the first moment since then that – that Kuroo feels like they’re _them._

“Yeah,” Kuroo bites away a smile. “Okay.”

 

Their fingers look good together. He’s much tanner than Bokuto, not a bad thing of course, just aesthetically interesting. Bokuto’s hands are rounder, but Kuroo’s are longer. He’s warm, and his big fingers squeeze his as Bokuto pulls them up to the roof of the dead community court.

Their steps vibrate the metal stairs as they climb. The door is rusted shut, and it takes Bokuto’s shoulder to nudge it open.

Fresh air hits them like a wall, and they simultaneously inhale.

City lights litter the skyline, dim and throbbing with distant life. The sun went down long ago, so the pavement is cool to sit on.

“Ahhh,” Bokuto exhales. “It’s nice up here.”

“Mm,” Kuroo agrees.

They sit in silence. It’s not really bad. But Kuroo decides to lean his head on Bokuto’s shoulder, and Bokuto lets him.

Something breaks between them. Bokuto wraps an arm around his shoulders like he’s done hundreds of times before, and Kuroo positively melts.

“Déjà vu, huh?” Bokuto’s voice vibrates above him.

Kuroo sighs, planting a palm on Bokuto’s thigh, “We skipped a lot of class.”

“Do you remember when I got a car?” Bokuto nudges him. “That first night I snuck out and drove all the way to your place?”

“You threw a rock through my window.”

“I didn’t think I threw it that hard!”

“Yeah,” Kuroo recalls fondly. “I remember that. We could’ve gone anywhere, but instead we drove to Nekoma and climbed up on the roof deck.”

Bokuto rubs his cheek against the top of Kuroo’s head. Kuroo’s heart swells and stops all together, happiness running hot through his chest and down to his hands.

“I thought about that a lot. On days I couldn’t talk to you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” Bokuto huffs. “We’re over it.”

“I’m not,” Kuroo admits. “I don’t think I deserve your forgiveness.”

“I love you,” Bokuto says. “So much. Even after a year of thinking I hated you, I still loved you.”

Kuroo dryly laughs, the city lights blurring as he blinks. “You’re too good for me.”

“Completely untrue~” Bokuto sings. They slump together a little more, “You forgave me for throwing a rock through your window.”

“You can hardly compare the two.”

“You always looked out for me.” Bokuto’s voice drops softer. “When I tripped up the stairs you always made sure I was okay before you laughed.”

“You do trip up stairs a lot.” Kuroo ponders, “That shouldn’t be feasibly possible.”

“I remember when I brought a dog home,” Bokuto laughs. “That old terrier.”

“Dumpling.”

“You remember her name.”

“Of course. I hid her in my room for three days.”

“Because my dad found her in mine,” Bokuto laughs, head tipping back. It’s loud and familiar and good. “I called you crying, and you took her off my hands.”

“She has a good home now,” Kuroo nods. “Kai loves her.”

“Always looking out for me,” Bokuto nuzzles against him. “Even when I hate it.”

Kuroo falls silent. Weird feelings still curl around in his gut. A plane sours by, the lights blinking in the distance.

“You drive back tomorrow,” Kuroo states, softly. 

“I do.”

“Mm.” Kuroo leans further into him. He wishes he could dissipate. Untie himself, and attach to Bokuto forever. Leave this world for just an hour or two.

“I’m happy I ended up at State,” Bokuto finally says, the tension spilling over, and melting away. “I never would’ve gone, if not for all this. So thank you.”

Kuroo’s eyes sting, so he swallows hard and rubs his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. They're words he didn't deserve, but words he needed oh-so badly. 

“I’ve realized a lot.” Bokuto keeps talking. Almost to himself. “Long distance won’t be so bad. You know, so long as I can talk to you every day. We went to different schools for so long anyways, you know?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo manages.

“I just wanna’ come home to you one day.” Bokuto smiles. “I guess time doesn’t matter too much.”

“I love you,” Kuroo whispers, fingers tightening right beneath Bokuto’s knee, and suddenly they’re kissing.

They’ve kissed hundreds-? probably hundreds of times. Sloppy kisses, soft pecks, long, deep, everything in between.But this one is _lightning._ Lightning in the sand. Sculptures crafted from broken shells.

Kuroo brings a hand up to cradle the side of Bokuto’s face, an arm comes around the narrow curve of Kuroo’s waist, and they mold into one singular being.

His lips are slightly chapped, but that’s solved easily by Kuroo’s tongue. He recalls every curvature he ever memorized, every dip, every tooth. He feels Bokuto cry, more than sees it. It drips across his thumb, so he smears it away and kisses him harder, climbing into his lap and letting go of _everything._ Of every bubble of guilt, of every inkling of sadness.

They’re high up here, away from the real world, so Kuroo chooses not to exist. He ties himself to Bokuto and doesn’t let go. He feels Bokuto do the same.

They’re gripping cotton hard enough to wrinkle, kissing uncoordinated and messy, but they’re too numb to notice. Kuroo feels it in his chest, feels every heartbeat, feels static run up and down his arms.

That night, Bokuto pushes Kuroo into the back seat of his car. The parking lot glows lonely under a single street lamp, but all Kuroo sees is the low teal light of the dashboard, and Bokuto between his thighs.

They cling to each other, nails digging indents, teeth against throats. Everything is different. Everything is just as Kuroo remembered.

The car windows fog, but nobody is there to see.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo doesn't like the idea of  _needing_ anyone. The whole "useless without a man" thing is unrealistic. He was never fond of those clingy couples that can’t function without the other. Bokuto never liked the idea either. 

 And they’re not really like that. Not really. They’re perfectly capable without the other.

Except, there’s a difference. Romance or not, love or not, dating or not. Bokuto is his _best friend,_ his platonically unplatonic life partner for life. Bokuto enriches every aspect of Kuroo’s existence, to the extent of almost, _almost_ believing in all that zodiac compatibility bullshit.

Bokuto drives away, off to another semester, and Kuroo is left feeling significantly less empty. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ahhHhHhfhas this is,,, yea
> 
>  
> 
> [@zanimez](http://zanimez.tumblr.com/)


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